


Take Me Back

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron)'s Shack, M/M, Magical Realism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Kerberos Mission, Riding, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, Top Keith (Voltron), Topping from the Bottom, Touch-Starved Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26933788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Keith's spent the better part of a year feeling lost in the desert. One night, deep in his grief, Keith receives an unexpected visitor: Shiro from the future. But Shiro's not expecting to stay long.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 49
Kudos: 299
Collections: Across Realities





	Take Me Back

**Author's Note:**

> This was my fic that I wrote for the _Across Realities_ zine! It was such a joy to work on the project, and I decided to fly with my love of time-traveling and write a piece based on the idea that instead of being locked away in the Astral Plane after his death, Shiro is sent back in time to just before Season 1. 
> 
> I wrote the first 1k to be part of the main zine, and everything else is a continuation found in the nsfw zine! I decided to just post them both together here. ♥ 
> 
> Deepest thanks to [Zan](https://twitter.com/tagteamme), [Sarah](https://twitter.com/ailurea), and [Heather](https://twitter.com/hchanooo) for reading through this and helping me catch all the errors before it printed lol. And thanks to [Viper](https://twitter.com/sheithpocalypse/) who helped me brainstorm this idea in the first place! And extra kudos to Sarah, again, for wrangling my stupid formatting bs AND for supporting my impulsive decision to completely rewrite the sex scene. True MVP. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this one! ♥

The desert is cold. Keith’s always known this. He knows the barren whisper of the wind across the empty sand, the shadows where animals and plants once thrived. If he wanted, Keith could make a field guide for everything that’s been lost: lavender butterflies freckling the air, delicate thistles dotting the ground, kangaroo rats scurrying into burrows beneath the porch. Most nights, Keith thinks that he should include himself in that list too. 

He spends the hours he should be sleeping staring up at the sky, feeling that pinprick of longing inside him, that strange pull that coaxes him towards the mountains. Sometimes he tries to follow that call and sometimes he tries to find Pluto instead, though he knows it’s impossible without a telescope. He knows where it’s supposed to be even if he can’t see it and he thinks: _Hasn’t that always been the case?_

He has a wall full of post-its and string attached to thumbtacks on a map, a lot of dead ends and no-way-outs. That, too, has always been the case for Keith. _It’s killing me when you’re away._

He has a box full of Shiro’s things packed away in the back room, the Garrison’s parting gift when they booted Keith. Nothing unlocks the emptiness inside him quite like looking through the last remnants of Shiro on Earth and reminding himself that, before leaving, Shiro named Keith next-of-kin without saying anything. 

The force of Keith’s grief unmoors him. It has nowhere to go but inward. 

And there’s nothing special about this grief tonight. Keith sits on the steps leading into the shack, his hair too long at the nape of his neck, his eyes stinging with the bitter wind, his body shivering from too few layers. He waits for the night to swallow him whole. The stars aren’t any different. The moon’s half-full, hanging heavy in the sky. If he listens carefully, Keith can hear the licking whispers of night animals calling out from the darkness. 

Keith stares into that dark. He blinks, vision obscured for a fraction of a second. Shadows fade in and out, and then just beyond the steps, in the spot just before him, Keith watches Shiro materialize. 

Keith springs to his feet. He thinks, finally, he’s lost his mind. He thinks, finally, he’s too broken from the desert. He can’t return to himself again. 

“Shiro—” 

Keith rushes to him. He doesn’t need to consider if this is really Shiro. It’s _Shiro._

Keith slams into Shiro’s chest, his arms a tight vice around him. Keith’s never going to let go. He’s going to make sure of that. 

Shiro hugs him back like it’s easy, like it hasn’t been nearly a year without him. Like Keith hasn’t spent the last year alone and aching with it. Shiro squeezes him tight and it’s exactly like Keith remembers from that night before the Kerberos launch: Shiro cradled him close like Keith was the answer to the entire universe. Shiro had never said as much, but his eyes had welled up with tears when Keith promised him, _I’ll be here when you get back._

And Keith is here. And so is Shiro. Keith feels Shiro drape around him, arms sure and protective where they circle Keith. 

Keith should ask the obvious questions: _how are you here, where did you go, what happened, are you real?_

Instead, Keith croaks, “ _Shiro._ ” 

Shiro breathes, his hands tender on Keith’s back when he draws him in closer, infinitely closer, his nose pressing into Keith’s hair like he’s memorizing every shape of Keith. Keith shivers, although this time from the sudden warmth of Shiro’s body rather than the night chill. 

“Keith,” Shiro answers, his voice so small and so far away. It makes Keith hook his hands firmly on his shoulders, stubbornly anchoring him to Earth. He realizes he’s crying, although no tears have spilled yet, his body shuddering with gulping breaths where he’s pushed up against Shiro’s chest. 

“You found me,” Keith marvels, blinking back the tears. He shoves it all back down again. His voice comes out surprisingly even. 

It doesn’t fool Shiro. He lets out a breath, almost a laugh, and curls around Keith further. “Guess I did.” 

Keith pulls back enough to look up at Shiro, shaking from more than just the cold. Shiro’s smile is like the cosmic sky itself—infinite, eternal, and beautiful. Keith could get lost just in the look of him, fall into this well of stars and never emerge again. 

“I don’t know how I can be here,” Shiro confesses, something fragile in his tone. He touches him like _Keith’s_ the one who’ll disappear. “Black, she—I’m—” 

Shiro cuts himself off, going still, his eyes widening with some pained realization. Keith keeps looking at him. His hair’s different—a patch of white hair dusting his forehead, a thick scar dragged across the bridge of his nose, wearing a uniform unlike the Garrison flight-suits. Keith’s fingertips ghost over the black vee carved into the chestplate of—armor. It’s armor. 

Shiro catches Keith’s hand gently before Keith can examine it further. Fueled by the touch, Keith drags Shiro inside the shack. It’s not much warmer in here than out there, but Keith hurries, refusing to let go of Shiro’s hand as he snags one threadbare blanket off his dad’s old bed and throws it around Shiro’s shoulders, bundling him up. 

Keith looks up at Shiro once more. He makes a sound. He must make a sound. 

“It’s okay,” Shiro assures him and squeezes his hand. His smile is a sad curve and Keith hates that most of all. Hates that even now Shiro is saying goodbye to him. 

Shiro is always saying goodbye. 

“You’re not leaving,” Keith decides and hopes he sounds bold rather than terrified. “I won’t let you.” 

Shiro’s smile is soft as he holds Keith’s gaze, as if always apologizing. He murmurs, “I’m here.” Keith tugs Shiro into another hug, pressing his face hard into Shiro’s chest. He wants it to be true. 

In Shiro’s arms, time loses meaning. Keith is used to the movement of time in the desert: how everything slows, how all the aching nights blur together. This is a different feeling entirely. It’s like everything has converged on this point in reality. 

Keith can’t say how long they stand like this, holding one another. All that matters is that they are held. 

Keith leans into Shiro, burying his face against Shiro’s shoulder and inhaling deeply. He’s captivated by the rise and fall of Shiro’s chest, the warmth of his body. He wants to catalog it all. He wants to never forget. Shiro is so warm. Keith didn’t realize just how cold he truly was until now. Maybe Keith’s been frozen the entire year that Shiro’s been gone. 

“Keith,” Shiro says, voice gentle. The sound of his voice should feel like benediction, like Keith is being drawn again from the darkness. 

But instead, he’s afraid, seized with a blind terror at the sound of his name. Shiro’s voice is too distant, too far away. Like it’s fading. 

Keith’s said goodbye to Shiro too many times already. Once is enough. Once is more than enough. 

Keith squeezes his eyes shut tight and shoves his face so hard against Shiro’s chest that his nose aches from the pressure. Maybe it should alarm him how deeply he revolves around Shiro, how wayward he’s been without him. Maybe. 

Voice cracking, he says, “I thought— I worried I’d never—” 

“I know,” Shiro says and hugs him tighter, nearly lifting Keith off the ground. The breath Shiro exhales is a shaky thing, brittle enough to make Keith’s stomach lurch. “But— I promise, you find me.” 

Shiro’s words are enough to settle Keith. He lingers for a breath longer before he draws back and looks up at Shiro. Shiro looks back down at him, too, one of his hands lifting to push the hair away from Keith’s face. 

Shiro studies him. Keith wonders what he sees, if he can note all the ways Keith’s changed in this year— if he still recognizes him. 

“You find me,” Shiro murmurs, glassy-eyed. 

Grasping for something— anything— to say, Keith looks away. “I should get you some clothes.” 

Shiro’s hand passes up Keith’s spine and with it, a trail of electricity tingling in its wake.

“Sure, Keith.”

Even with the offer, Keith doesn’t stray from Shiro’s side. He can’t quite summon the courage to step away. He wants to do the very opposite: he wants to sink into Shiro and never let him go again. Never let him leave his sight. 

Shiro’s hand drags up and down Keith’s back in a soothing rhythm. When Keith still makes no move to pull away, Shiro pauses and then shifts back. The wounded sound hitches from Keith’s throat before he can swallow it back down. 

But Shiro only takes Keith’s hand, leading him through the old shack. Shiro moves easily, leading Keith, and together they step into the back room. Relief swims in Keith’s gut when Shiro doesn’t let go of his hand. 

The bare lightbulb sizzles above them as Keith hunts for clothes that will fit Shiro. He’s embarrassed by the disarray around him— old, dirty clothes, crumpled up paper and books, other detritus from this isolating year. 

Everything smells stale and dusty, the air unstirring. Keith kicks aside a pile of his dirty clothes on the floor and digs through an old box, finding some of his dad’s spare clothing collecting dust. When he straightens, turning to Shiro, he holds them out. 

Shiro’s smile is melancholy as he takes the clothes, tracing his thumb over the zipper of the old vest. “This seems familiar,” he says, more to himself, and shakes his head when Keith hums his confusion. “Thank you, Keith.” 

Keith watches Shiro like a hawk as he crosses to the bed, setting down the clothes. Under Keith’s watchful gaze, Shiro strips down. He pries off the plates of his armor, the gauntlets, the greaves, and finally the chest plate. 

Shiro looks strangely bare in just the black fabric of the undersuit. The way it clings to Shiro allows Keith to observe how much larger he’s become in the year he’s been away, all that built muscle and a trim waist. He looks older, maybe, the kind of older that’s forced upon someone. But Shiro’s eyes have always been the deepest and kindest that Keith’s ever known. That hasn’t changed. 

Keith isn’t sure why his heart leaps when Shiro runs his hand over the chest plate, unable to set it down as he did the rest of his armor. His fingertips trace the black marking the same way Keith did earlier. Time seems to slow again, zeroing in on just that— the way Shiro looks, unmoving, his fingertips poised against the metal. 

Then, with finality, Shiro sets the chest plate down and turns away. He doesn’t look at it again, as if forcing himself not to look. 

Keith watches this all. The way Shiro’s chest sags with a sigh. How he closes his eyes. After a pause, he shrugs out of his undersuit, peeling it off his skin. 

The sound Keith makes is audible in the silent room, a sharp breath stuttering as the dim glow of the one lightbulb catches on the sleek metal of Shiro’s arm. Keith stares as the suit slips down, exposing Shiro’s body inch by scarred inch and pooling at his hips. 

Keith moves back towards Shiro before he even fully realizes he’s doing so. His fingers curl around that gunmetal wrist and hold tight. He stares at the spot on Shiro’s arm where flesh meets metal, all that twisting scar tissue biting the edge. 

Keith stares too long. He tips forward as Shiro tugs him into his arms once more, hugging him.  
“I’m okay, Keith,” he says, and it sounds like a lie. “It’s okay.” 

“What happened to you?” Keith asks, staring up at Shiro with wide eyes. “Where— Shiro, where _were_ you?” 

“It’s hard to explain,” Shiro says. 

Keith’s fingers slide down Shiro’s arm, slotting their fingers together. “Tell me.” 

Shiro’s shoulders sag. “I don’t know how much I can. If this really is the past, then… the timeline—” 

Keith grunts. He has no idea what that means. “At least,” he whispers, his heart too full, “you’re alive.” 

Shiro stills then. He closes his eyes, as if the words themselves have hit him, heavy and involuntary. He says nothing. 

It’s terrifying. 

The silence propels Keith forward, tripping over his feet as he pushes Shiro down onto the bed, seeking some way to press himself full-bodied to him, to _feel_ him and _know_ he’s still breathing. Shiro lands on the mattress with a soft _oof_ as Keith collides with him. Keith scrambles up the length of Shiro’s body, throwing his arms around his neck. It puts them both in an awkward position with Shiro sprawled out half-dressed on the bed, Keith straddling his lap as he clings. 

It’s a precarious position. Keith’s never really _touched_ Shiro like this before. Sure, before Shiro left for his mission, they’d spend so much time together. A hand on his shoulder. A nudge of the elbow. A lingering hug with Shiro’s hands rubbing Keith’s back whenever he needed it. Not like this, though. 

Tonight is a night of firsts: Shiro emerging from the darkness, Keith seeing Shiro half-dressed, Keith sitting in his lap and refusing to budge. 

A dream. The thought comes to Keith like that. For all he knows, this is all a dream, the last dredges of his sanity conjuring up what his heart wants most. Maybe Keith’s only a half-cry away from waking up, alone and cold on the front steps of his father’s old shack. 

Keith can admit that he’s not even sure what he’s asking for. Everything is too much: he wants to be absorbed, he wants to be part of Shiro and never parted from him. The idea that he might blink and Shiro will be gone, that he might be alone again, is too much. He paws at Shiro’s shoulders and bites back a slew of words that threaten to pour out, eager only to touch him. Eager only to know that Shiro is _here._ That he is _alive_. He shifts in Shiro’s lap. He touches Shiro’s chest, tracing over a few stray scars, his fingertips curling against his warm skin. He feels the rise and fall of his breath. He feels Shiro. 

It goes beyond just sensation. It’s something primal, twisting in his core: Hold onto Shiro. Never let him go. 

Blink and he’ll be gone. 

Keith has always known desperation. He’s always known his own madness, cultivated and nurtured by a year in the desert. With the proof of Shiro beneath him, Keith can’t even be embarrassed that his relief and worry skips into something more. It pools inside him, blooming warm and present— a stark contrast to the bitter desert winds. 

“Keith—” Shiro says in a murmur, because he must notice it, too, must feel the moment Keith shifts. He sits up just a little, taking Keith with him. Keith backs off enough to look into his eyes. 

His fingers claw at Shiro’s shoulders, his collarbones. Keith touches Shiro and does not whimper even though his chest constricts. 

The contact is too purposeful and Shiro’s eyes on him are too steady, too observant. Keith watches Shiro’s lips part in surprise, the slightest widening of his eyes. “Keith,” he says, hushed. “You want— Oh.” His voice comes out too thready, too low. “ _Oh._ Keith.” 

Keith bites his lip, cheeks burning red. The air in the room feels thicker now. There’s expectation here. Keith holds the tension in his shoulders as he waits for Shiro to react. But Shiro isn’t shoving Keith out of his lap. He’s just staring up at Keith with wide, familiar grey eyes. 

Keith has long accepted that Shiro would never feel the same way about Keith as he does for Shiro. But looking into Shiro’s eyes now, he wonders if maybe he was mistaken. If, all this time, he should have guessed. 

A blush creeps up Shiro’s cheeks and travels high enough to color his ears. It’s almost too endearing and Keith aches with a longing he can’t describe. He never knew such a feeling could echo so deep, yawning open within him like a chasm. 

Keith swallows thickly and shifts his hips down purposefully, pressing into Shiro’s lap. He aches to have Shiro skin to skin. Now that he’s been given the opening, he doesn’t want to let it slip by. He doesn’t want Shiro to disappear through his fingers like sand. 

“Shiro,” he says in a whisper. “Please.” 

Tentatively, Shiro’s hands find Keith’s hips— cool metal palm and warm skin brushing beneath the hem of Keith’s shirt. Keith’s teeth catch on his bottom lip to hold back the sound he’d make just from that, body wanting to shake apart so quickly. 

“I didn’t— I never knew you—” Shiro says and stops, the words half-formed. 

_How could you not know?_ Keith wants to ask, but words fail him. 

Shiro’s throat bobs. Keith watches its rise and fall, the flex of his jaw. 

Keith wants to be powerful. He wants to be transcendent and desirable. He wants Shiro to look at him and see someone blazing and beautiful. He knows he must look pathetic, empty and lonely, sand and grit under his nails, his hair limp, his body too thin. 

They might both be some form of ghosts. But then again, Keith’s never known breathing to be so audible. 

He leans away enough to rip his shirt off over his head and toss it blindly aside. He steels himself and lets himself be a falling star, arcing down to Shiro. 

“Keith,” Shiro says and ducks his head before Keith can swoop in to kiss him. 

The rejection stabs into his heart. Keith gasps like he’s been punched in the gut. He yanks himself back again, already despairing the moment when he must part from Shiro.  
But Shiro’s hands flex on Keith’s hips, keeping him there. They’re steady, his fingers curled along the sharp line of Keith’s hipbones. 

Shiro takes a long, deep breath. Then he asks, “Have you done this before?” 

“No.” 

“It’s… your first time shouldn’t be like this, Keith,” Shiro says, unbearably kind. “Not with me.” 

The very thought is absurd. 

“Who else _but_ you?” Keith snaps and can’t be embarrassed by the truth of the words. 

Shiro’s lips part around his unspoken words, clearly taken aback but the force of Keith’s response. 

But Keith presses on. “It could only ever be you, Shiro.” Boldly, he says, “It was always going to be you.” 

Shiro closes his eyes, looking torn. His breath splinters out of him, his hands squeezing Keith’s hips and refusing to let go. He doesn’t say anything for a long beat, holding himself so still, as if trying to absorb the words, to process them. 

Keith reaches for him, then, his fingers skating across his jaw, palms cupping his cheeks. When Shiro opens his eyes again, they meet Keith’s instantly. Keith holds his gaze, ready to sink into him. Ready for his world to end and begin here, like this. With Shiro. Only ever Shiro. 

When Shiro still says nothing, Keith says, “I missed you. I missed you so much, Shiro.” 

Shiro inhales, his chest expanding, then lets the air sigh out of him slowly. 

“I’m sorry that all I ever do is hurt you,” he says. 

Keith’s about to protest those words when Shiro’s hand lifts. He curls his fingers around Keith’s wrist and gently draws it away from his cheek. Keith’s heart plummets into his stomach. 

But Shiro merely plucks off Keith’s fingerless glove. He studies Keith’s bare hand, thumb brushing over the calluses, then leans down to press a kiss right in the center of Keith’s palm. 

“Come here,” Shiro murmurs, looking at him like Keith is made of stars. “Come here, Keith.” 

Keith doesn’t need to be told twice. He falls to Shiro and Shiro is there to catch him— his hands warm and sure and certain against Keith’s body. Keith only has time to suck in a deep breath before Shiro leans in and presses their mouths together. 

It’s gentle. Shiro’s mouth slides against his and it’s sweet, but it sets Keith on fire. He barely has time to react to the sudden presence. It’s his first kiss and it’s _Shiro_ and the urge to cry is, suddenly, so strong. Keith manages the tiniest gasp and then Shiro’s already pulling back. 

“Come back,” Keith says and then falls silent when Shiro peels off Keith’s other glove. 

He doesn’t wait for Shiro to say something, doesn’t wait for Shiro to look heartbroken by the plea— he dives forward, chasing Shiro. He’s too sloppy and too off-center when he crashes into Shiro. Too demanding, too impatient. But Shiro soothes him, cupping his chin and guiding him. He tilts Keith’s head and sighs out once as he kisses Keith. 

Keith opens to him, helpless against it. He’s fueled on by instinct and Shiro is there to meet him. His mouth brushes carefully across Keith’s as he presses close, as his tongue laps once at Keith’s bottom lip and then retreats. Keith makes a sound, all overwhelmed breath and teeth. 

He melts in Shiro’s arms. He kisses Shiro and it feels like the world shifts radically beneath him. Shiro’s mouth is soft, just a pillowing of his lips against his, the briefest whisper of his tongue before Keith dives deeper, closer. He licks into Shiro’s mouth, seeking more. 

When Shiro draws back again, his thumb brushes across Keith’s kiss-damp mouth. His eyes look darker in the unforgiving light, flickering with the lightbulb’s casting glow. His fingers curl around Keith’s chin, thumb pressing against the swell of his bottom lip. 

Shiro is silent as he looks at him. Like he’s trying to figure Keith out, like Keith hasn’t already exposed every raw and broken edge of himself. 

Keith holds still, like he’s pinned, and then says, “ _Shiro_.” 

That seems enough to beckon Shiro closer. He leans in, hand shifting from his chin to cup his cheek, to angle Keith carefully as he leans in closer with an easy sweep of his tongue. 

Keith doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He doesn’t know how to breathe. The world zeroes in on the pillow of Shiro’s mouth against his. His hands scramble up Shiro’s shoulders, clawing towards and curling at the back of his neck, fingertips curling into his hair. He tries to be confident, whimpering once as he squirms closer and bites down on Shiro’s lip. 

“I—” Keith says when they break apart. He hovers close, afraid to drift too far away, too afraid to close his eyes. He bites his lip, unsure what else to say. “I need—” 

Shiro looks at him, his gaze steady and his cheeks flushed. Quietly, he says, “I know what you need, Keith.” 

His hands squeeze Keith’s hips one more time and then he tilts back towards the bed, bringing Keith with him. He flips them effortlessly and lets Keith splay out flat on the bed. Shiro hovers above him, the silver part of his hair flopping forward across his forehead, his eyes clear and zeroed in only on Keith. 

Keith’s caged in with the way Shiro holds himself over him. He swallows, his legs falling open to make space for Shiro to settle between them. Seeing the way Shiro holds himself above Keith, the light haloing behind him, it’s nothing like how Keith imagined it’d be— the one or two times he let himself indulge in the thought of it. 

Keith cups Shiro’s cheeks and holds his face, cradling him. Precious. Entirely too precious. Keith wants to cry. 

“Shiro,” he says, both a plea and a warning. 

When Shiro touches him, it’s too much. Keith can’t remember the last time anyone’s touched him, and the weight of Shiro’s hands is encompassing. Like the dark of the desert encroaching, like a thousand stars falling into the palms of their hands. Shiro’s fingertips skim across Keith’s chest, down the dip of his stomach, trailing across his belly. 

Shiro hesitates only for a beat, a barely-there stutter in the fluid movement. And then his hand cups Keith through his pants and all Keith can do is groan, hips lifting involuntarily. It’s barely a graze, but it’s everything. 

“Oh,” Keith breathes. 

“It’s okay,” Shiro says, voice soothing. And Keith knows it’s okay, it’s more than okay. He’s never been more okay in his life than now, feeling Shiro _touching him._

His hand feels big where it presses and Keith tips his chin down, watching as Shiro moves and slips his fingers beneath the waistband of Keith’s pants. When Shiro’s hand brushes over Keith’s swelling cock, he can’t bite back the pathetic moan. He’s a livewire, sparking to life. 

He rocks up helplessly into the warm circle of Shiro’s fist. Shiro strokes his hand down, coaxing Keith into a steady rhythm. Deftly, his other hand reaches out and plucks Keith’s pants down his legs until he’s sprawled out naked beneath him. 

A small part of Keith thinks it must be a dream. That’s the only way Keith could be here, like this, naked and rocking his hips up into the inviting curl of Shiro’s sure fingers. Shiro’s touch is a delicious, spine-tingling drag down then back up again, squeezing around the crown and thumb swiping across the slit. Keith resists the urge to squeeze his eyes shut from the pleasure of it, unwilling to accept that this is a dream— that he’s fallen asleep on the steps outside and breaking his visual on Shiro will mean the dream dissipates. 

Impossible to think that Shiro could want him, too. 

Keith’s electric from Shiro’s touch. It takes just a few pumps of Shiro’s hand, big and warm around him, before Keith falls over the edge. When Shiro makes him come, Keith can barely breathe around the wave of pleasure that crests through him. His face contorts in pleasure, his cock spasming between Shiro’s seeking fingers. When he thinks about it like that— that it’s Shiro touching him— Keith can only groan and ride the sensation, coming across his stomach in shiny streaks. 

Keith’s cosmically aware of how closely Shiro studies his face. Shiro’s eyes are heavy upon him and it almost feels like a touch accompanying the steady slide of his fingers. When Keith bites his lip hard, he swears the sting is too precise, like fangs. The world sharpens into focus, like he’s seeing Shiro in new colors, in a deeper detail. 

Keith crashes back down with Shiro’s hand around him. Shiro holds still, waiting as Keith shakes through the sensitivity. Shiro’s touch is like torture but it’s one that Keith never wants to end. He orbits that feeling with almost painful precision until the world fades to normal again, his breathing evening out, the bite on his lip feeling less pointed. His focus softens.

It’s embarrassing and thrilling to gulp down a heaving lungful of air and watch Shiro smile, expression unbearably fond, as if it’s Keith who’s done something remarkable and miraculous. If it were any other situation, if it were a _normal_ situation, Keith would laugh at him. He’d never stop teasing Shiro for that look. 

Instead, his hand finds Shiro’s cheek. Keith watches the way Shiro’s smile gentles, the way he tilts his head and presses into Keith’s palm. 

Shiro hesitates for a moment and then leans down to kiss him. It’s slow and serene. He lays worship to Keith’s mouth, swearing devotion with his lips and tongue. It’s intense, leaving Keith’s body singing, and he has to break the kiss with a little pant, his head still swimming just from having Shiro so close.

“Good?” Shiro asks in a low murmur.

“No. I mean— yes, but,” Keith says, “it’s not enough.” 

Surprise flickers awake in Shiro’s eyes. He considers the words, his hand light where it rests against Keith’s stomach. He swipes up and down a few times, cleaning Keith up, his fingers sticky with come. 

“Oh yeah?” Shiro asks, quiet. He laughs, something throaty and wispy.

“Yes,” Keith says. 

Shiro hums, the sound thoughtful. “What do you want now, Keith?”

“I don’t…” 

“Anything you want,” Shiro says, his voice so serious now, his eyes dark as he looks at him. “Whatever you want, you can have it. Just… tell me what you need.” 

_You,_ is the ridiculous first thought that springs into Keith’s mind. It makes him want to weep. But he knows Shiro is asking for something more specific. He holds his breath, not even really thinking about it when his hands lift to touch Shiro’s hips, at the undersuit still bunched there. 

Shiro tracks the movement, his gaze flowing down the willowy line of Keith’s arms and down his body. His eyes settle at his flagged cock, the open cradle of his thighs. 

Shiro considers what Keith doesn’t say, that unspoken need thrumming inside him. Then, Shiro squirms out of his undersuit, stripping down so that he’s naked with Keith. He shifts, settling his thick thighs across Keith’s hips as he straddles him as easy and smooth as liquid. 

All Keith can do is stare at Shiro’s naked body, the criss-cross of scars and the golden glow of his skin. Keith’s eyes fall to Shiro’s cock. He stares, unable to look away. 

Shiro gives a little cough when Keith just keeps staring, as if embarrassed, and smooths his hand over Keith’s thigh. “Hey…” 

“I—” Keith says, hushed. 

Keith reaches for his cock, the touch tentative. Shiro sucks in a sharp, surprised gasp. Keith’s palm skirts down Shiro’s full length. It’s mesmerizing, the way Shiro groans and arches, like he can barely be contained by mere touch. Keith, feeling emboldened by Shiro’s positive response, squeezes around Shiro’s cock harder. Shiro _moans,_ eyelashes fluttering and fanning across his cheeks as he closes his eyes, hips slowly rocking. 

“ _Keith_.”

“Oh,” Keith says in something like a whimper. His hand flexes, squeezing around Shiro. “Shiro, I— I want—” 

He knows what he wants. He starts to shake with the force of that desire. There’s something profoundly comforting in having Shiro above him, in feeling him, in watching him find pleasure because of something Keith’s done. 

Shiro is quiet as he rocks his hips forward into Keith’s hand, biting his lip. There’s a flush to his cheeks, a longing in his eyes as he stares at Keith. 

“You,” Keith finally manages. “I want you. To be in you. To— to feel you, Shiro.” 

Shiro nods before Keith’s even finished the words, and there’s something breathless in how easy he gives Keith this. 

“Anything,” Shiro says. “Anything for you, Keith.” 

Shiro’s fingers, sticky with Keith’s own come, slip from his stomach then. They steal all of Keith’s attention and he watches as Shiro shifts back and touches himself. He slicks his fingertips over his hole. Shiro’s eyes land on Keith’s face, watching for his reaction. 

Keith shudders at the sight, watching Shiro touch himself. He bites his bottom lip between his teeth, swallowing back involuntary sounds, just trying to focus. It’s too much at once. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, overwhelmed with longing anew. 

“Should I—” Keith says. 

Shiro shakes his head. “Let me take care of you, Keith.” Quietly, he adds, “I’m here. Let me show you. Let me give you what you need.” 

“Shiro—” 

The urge to say the same to Shiro is strong. Keith wants to insist that he’s the one who should be taking care of Shiro. But he’s paralyzed, stuck just staring at Shiro. 

Shiro’s eyes look like the deep night sky, dark and determined. His world has zeroed in on Keith, and Keith knows he can’t deny him. 

So he lies back with a little nod, his eyes big as he watches Shiro move. 

Shiro is patient, slow and methodical as he curls two fingers inside himself. It’s mesmerizing to watch him move, the slowest shift of his hips as he rocks into the touch. Just watching Shiro move, the slow slide of his fingers, the roll of his hips, the way he moves above Keith without touching him, is enough for Keith’s cock to plump up against his stomach. 

Keith is breathless, thinking of the gentle weight of Shiro’s body against his. The proof that he’s alive. The warmth of his hands against him. He wants to be inside him. He wants to make Shiro feel good, to make sure that he’s _here._

Time slows again and the only thing Keith can concentrate on is Shiro, all of Shiro. 

Shiro slowly draws his fingers out from inside himself. His eyes are dark, assessing, and he strokes his other hand across Keith’s belly. 

“Shiro…” 

“Ready, Keith?” 

Keith gives a jerky nod, overwhelmed. 

“Okay,” Shiro says in a low murmur. He shifts, adjusting himself, and takes Keith’s cock in hand. It takes all of Keith’s willpower not to come just from that touch, gasping at the sight of Shiro’s fingers curled around him. 

The first press of Keith’s cock to Shiro’s hole leaves him sucking in a deep breath. He lets it back out again as Shiro sinks onto him. Keith enters him like that, first the ruddy head of his cock and then a slow inch by inch. 

Keith tips his head back and groans, frustration and pleasure at once as Shiro feeds his cock into his body with careful rolls of his hips, stopping at intervals to assess Keith’s reaction. There’s a hand on Keith’s stomach, soothing him. 

“Shiro,” Keith moans. 

“I’ve got you,” Shiro says, quietly, and squeezes around Keith’s cock. It makes Keith nearly weep. 

Shiro moves slow, sinuous and torturous as he works Keith into his body. And once he’s fully seated on Keith, he feels the sweat clinging to his forehead. He gulps down air. 

Somehow, even though he’s the one inside Shiro, he’s never felt so full. He never wants to be empty again.

His hands lift, clinging to Shiro. He slides his palms up Shiro’s thighs, across his hips, and grasps his waist. He digs his fingers in, desperate to feel the heat of Shiro’s body, desperate to keep him close.

He can’t go back to being alone. He feels the swell of Shiro’s breath. 

“How are you so— so _good_?” Keith asks, voice cracking. He means for it to be a compliment, means for it to be flirty or confident and instead it comes out broken. He’s inside Shiro. His bottom lip wobbles and then he throws his arms across his face, blocking Shiro, finally, from view. “Fuck. You’re—” 

His voice cracks around the words. He’s crying, he realizes, and knows it not because of the tears welling up but because of the sound Shiro makes in response. Shiro’s hands drag up Keith’s body and he presses down, holding him. He cradles Keith, somehow, even while straddling him. 

“Keith,” Shiro says in a hush, punched-out and heartbroken. He seems torn between pulling Keith closer or pushing himself away. His hips shift, as if he might withdraw from Keith.

Keith’s hands scramble up the plane of Shiro’s back, hooking in deep and _clinging._ He shudders into Shiro’s body, gasping for air.

“Shiro. Shiro—” 

“Keith,” Shiro says again. “It’s okay.” 

“I l—” Keith wails, swallowing back the words. “I miss you all the time, I just— I.” 

This time Shiro tries to shift away. But Shiro can’t go away. He can’t go away again. 

Keith gasps for air. He can’t breathe. He must look so ugly like this, too needy, face all twisted up and red. He must be so pathetic. 

“Don’t go,” Keith cries out. He clings to Shiro and refuses to let go. 

Shiro drops down onto his elbows and kisses Keith. “I’m here,” he promises. “Keith—” His hand folds across Keith’s cheek, thumb brushing. “Tell me what you want.” 

Too many things. Keith doesn’t know how to put voice to what he wants. 

Instead, he throws his arms around Shiro’s shoulders and shifts up closer. The movement and drag of his body changes the angle, sending his cock deeper inside Shiro’s body. Shiro seems to welcome it— the burn, the stretch, the drag of it all. Maybe Shiro wants that proof, too— proof that he’s alive. Proof that he’s here. 

Keith’s vision blurs and he has to blink to clear it. Shiro’s thumb swipes over his cheek, brushing away a betraying tear. 

“I’m pathetic,” Keith mutters. 

“You’re beautiful.” 

Keith hiccups and reaches for Shiro, cradling his face in his hands. His fingertips brush across the edges of the scar bridging his nose. Shiro lets him, his expression gentling as Keith explores. He smiles, just a little, when Keith touches his bottom lip, then skims across his jaw. 

“Keith,” he says, and nothing more. 

He looks fragile, somehow, in the flickering light. He looks like a shadow, or a memory. The comparison scares Keith, reminding him too much that this could all just be a dream. He traces up Shiro’s neck just to feel the steady pound of his pulse, his heart thrumming beneath his fingertips. 

“Tell me what you want, Keith,” Shiro says again. 

“I want—” Keith says. “I want you to come home.” 

That’s not what Shiro expected Keith to say. His gasp is more like a whimper, a punch to the solar plexus. 

“Shiro,” Keith says, to stave off the pain in Shiro’s eyes, and rolls his hips up. He tugs Shiro in closer and buries his face against Shiro’s neck, inhaling sharply. He breathes Shiro in as he rocks into his body. 

Shiro rolls his hips down and starts to fuck him, his pace steady as he bobs himself on Keith’s cock. Keith moans weakly at the feeling of it. 

It’s Shiro who’s moving above him, Shiro who’s touching him, Shiro who’s welcoming him. It’s Shiro’s hands on him, Shiro’s lips ghosting his ear. It’s Shiro. 

They move together like that. Keith does his best to meet the thrust of Shiro’s hips. Keith presses sloppy, inexperienced kisses along the slope of Shiro’s neck, lips seeking the hummingbird pulse, the vibrations of Shiro’s moans as he moves and rocks against Keith. Shiro ducks his head, nuzzling into Keith’s hair. Their pace goes steady, deeper and deeper. 

This is everything Keith dreamed of, all those months leading up to Kerberos— welcoming Shiro home like this, welcomed, in turn, into Shiro’s body. He imagined the opposite, too, how it would feel to have Shiro inside him. To know all of him. 

“Let me— let me come inside you,” Keith demands after the silence stretches too long— and Shiro whispers his name and kisses his jaw. He fucks against Keith just on the side of desperation, squeezing around him, wanting to pull another orgasm from him. He hardly has to try. Keith can barely hang on before he comes again with a shocked moan, his vision sharpening and his teeth stinging as he bites into his lip, nearly drawing blood. 

Shiro moves against him, riding him, taking everything Keith has to give. And it’s everything. Keith will give him everything, every time. He’ll do anything to feel Shiro moving against him like this, proof that they’re together. That he’s the one to make Shiro feel this way. 

Keith lets himself think, for a moment, that he’s what can drive Shiro to desperation. That, somehow, he’s the only thing Shiro could ever want. That he’s the one Shiro’s been looking for. That Shiro emerging from the darkness was him simply seeking the welcoming starlight of Keith’s eyes. That Keith was always going to be what welcomed Shiro home. 

When Shiro comes, he stills above Keith. His cock twitches and it’s the only warning Keith gets before warmth floods between them. Keith gasps out and moans, wriggling his hips as Shiro jerks forward. He’s silent in his orgasm, shuddering apart above Keith. 

Once he’s finished, Shiro presses down, tucking his face into Keith’s hair and breathing deep. Keith welcomes his weight, the thrilling reassurance of it. Shiro’s body squeezes around him, rippling with residual pleasure, and Keith holds on tight. They lie like that together, pressed chest to chest. 

Keith doesn’t know how long they stay like that, breathing the same air, their chests rising and falling together, Shiro’s presence all around him. The room smells like sex and sweat. Keith buries his nose against Shiro’s shoulder and inhales as Shiro lazily nuzzles into his hair, cuddling him. 

It’s almost too painfully sweet an image. The urge to cry is there, ever-present, but Keith swallows it back. 

Slowly, Shiro does draw back— only enough to look down at Keith, their eyes meeting. 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says solemnly. 

“What?” 

“I only ever bring you pain,” Shiro says, just like before. 

Keith can imagine what Shiro sees: how thin he’s gotten, how his face just looks too fatigued with its heavy bags, with old sunburns peeled near his ears. The desert is unforgiving. Grief is unforgiving. 

Still, Keith makes a sound. He knows he does. “Shiro,” he says, fierce and pained and heartbroken at once. “I love you. Do you— do you have any idea how much I—” 

He can’t deny the pain this past year has brought him. But before the pain was the unspeakable happiness of knowing Shiro. Shiro always made him feel like he belonged, like he mattered, like there was joy to know and be part of the world. There was joy in knowing Shiro. There was joy in loving Shiro. There was joy in knowing that Shiro cared for him, too. 

Shiro wanted Keith to be here waiting for him once he came home, no matter if he never refused to say as much. Keith knew. How could Keith not know? 

“My life—” Keith says, voice hiccupping, tears streaming down his cheeks now. “It’d be completely different without you.” 

Shiro’s face slackens at the words, softening with memory. Keith wonders if he’s said something similar in the future. 

“I love you,” Keith says again, clearer this time. He doesn’t want Shiro to forget it. 

Shiro tilts his chin up and kisses him. It’s sweet and encompassing, gentle in the way only Shiro can be. Keith feels the curve of his smile pressing against his mouth as he kisses him, keeping it relatively chaste. He’s still smiling even as he draws back from Keith, a small, heartbroken thing. 

He brushes the hair from Keith’s face and tucks it behind his ear and says, “I love you, too, Keith.” 

Keith stills in shock. 

“No matter what happens, know that, okay?” Shiro asks. “I love you. I’m always going to love you. No matter where I am… No matter where I go.” 

For a heart-stopping moment, Shiro fades again. He goes translucent, flickering in and out like a dying lightbulb. _Dying._ The thought seizes Keith and his eyes widen. He throws himself at Shiro and holds tight. 

Shiro goes solid in his arms. He sucks in a breath. Alive. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Keith says. “Stop talking like you’re saying goodbye.” 

Shiro curls his arms around him, hugging him back. “If I stay—” 

“I don’t care,” Keith interrupts. “You’re staying.” 

Shiro is all around him. Keith can feel it. The pressing weight of his body, solid against Keith’s chest. The softening cock wedged between them, the warmth of his come. The caress of his hand as he brushes Keith’s hair away, as he cups his cheek, as he simply touches him. It all burns like a brand on Keith’s feverish skin. 

And Keith’s aware of his own body, too. The sated twinge of his muscles as he holds Shiro, as he cradles him in closer. The crying out of his heart. 

Keith’s heart beats for Shiro, the ache within him bone-deep and soul-encompassing. 

“Don’t leave me,” he begs and knows he’s begging. “Just stay. For now. Please.” 

Shiro’s expression splinters. When it smooths out again, Shiro takes a deep breath and presses their foreheads together. He stares into Keith’s eyes, then tips closer, kissing him. He murmurs his name. 

Shiro is here, present against Keith’s lips— a greeting rather than a goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
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>  **ETA:** Please be sure to check out Heather's [sketch for this fic](https://twitter.com/hchanooo/status/1315058961746288640), originally featured at the end of the fic in the main zine. IT'S SOFT AND I CRY.


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